Speak
by RiseStellar
Summary: Bella has endured years of mental and physical abuse until she's tucked herself away and refuses to speak. When she's fostered by the rich Esme and Carlisle Cullen, she finds herself forced into a new life surrounded by people who don't understand her. Weighed down by her past, she must learn to cope and find a way to overcome her fears by the hands of the last person she expected.
1. The Arrival

**Edward**

I flip open the fresh pack of cigarettes and fish the lighter from my pocket. As the flame lights up, I place the cigarette between my lips, but just before I can light it there's a breath of air and the flame flickers out.

"How fucking old are you?" I spit, lowering my cigarette and narrowing my eyes.

Rosalie grins and brushes a lock of blonde hair out of her eyes. She flops onto the couch in my bedroom and kicks her feet up, eyes dancing.

"Really? Get your fucking shoes off my couch."

I successfully light my cigarette this time and exhale a breath of warm nicotine. I'm going to need it if I have to put up with Rosalie all night.

"You know you're not supposed to smoke in the house," she comments in a prude voice.

"And you're not supposed to have your fucking shoes on my couch, but here we are," I make a sweeping gesture with my hands around the room. "Besides, where are Esme and Carlisle? On a fancy business trip is per usual."

I roll my eyes and cross the room, grabbing Rosalie's ankles and thrusting them off the couch.

"Hey!" she shouts. "You don't have to be so rough."

"What do you want, Rose?" I take a long pull off my cigarette and sit down next to her.

"Esme and Carlisle aren't on a business trip," she says with a cool smile. "They've gone to meet with a woman from the NWAE."

"You're joking," I stop and stare at her blankly. "They're adopting another fucking baby?"

"Fostering," she corrects, moving to a comfortable sitting position and crossing her legs like the lady I know she isn't. "And she isn't a baby, she's sixteen."

"Why the fu-"

"The state pays them, idiot. And we both know how much Esme loves her elegance," she motions around the room.

I roll my eyes. Carlisle is a doctor and Esme is an architect. No one is short on money in our house, but Esme will take all she can get. I was the second child they adopted, when I was seven. Jasper and Rosalie were first; twins they adopted at the early age of three. And then they topped it off with Alice at age 11. It'd been years since they'd adopted a child, and we'd all thought they were finished. Apparently, without consulting another fucking person in the house, they'd decided to add another member to our not-so-perfect family.

"Another Cullen to make this house a home," I say sarcastically, putting emphasis on the word 'home'.

"It's not permanent, you know. You do know what fostering is, right?"

I lean down until my face is dangerously close to Rosalie's, "Do I look stupid to you?"

"Do you want me to lie or tell you the truth?" She teases darkly.

"Get out, now," I growl, pointing to the door.

I shove the butt of the cigarette into an ashtray on my nightstand and point to my door once again, forcing her out of my room reluctantly. Rosalie is a bitch. She and I never got along as children. She would always break things and spill things then tell Esme it was me, and I'd get in trouble. She's a manic manipulator and I've never trusted her. I can handle Alice easier than Rosalie, but she gets on my fucking nerves. She's always dancing around the house and singing, preaching some shit about self-love, and being regularly ditsy. Jasper is about the only person I can stand in the house, but even he has his regular moments where he just pisses me the fuck off. Admittedly, it's easily done.

"You're such a friendly individual, Edward. Thank you for your company," she says sarcastically, closing the door loudly behind her.

I sit on the couch and bend down to pull my shoes on. Another fucking Cullen? That's the last thing we need. I'm fuming, and need to release some pent up energy. I grab a hoodie from my closet and drag it over my head, exiting my room. I can hear Jasper, Rosalie, and Alice all deep in discussion in the living room as I make my way down the stairs.

"This is so exciting! I wonder what she's like," Alice says, practically bouncing in her seat.

"This is so not exciting," I mimic flatly.

"It wouldn't kill you to be happy for two seconds, Edward," Rosalie comments, not daring to make eye contact with me.

Jasper grins, sensing my annoyance. He thinks it's hilarious when Rose and I fight, which we regularly do. He tries to hide is smile from her, but her laughing eyes spot him and her face hardens.

"It's a chance I'm just not willing to take," I respond, resting my hands on the back of the couch and daring Rosalie to challenge me.

She knows better, though, having lost too many arguments with me over the course of her life. Or maybe she decides to pick her battles better, but either way she turns the subject back to the foster girl.

"I don't know, maybe it'll be nice. It's one more person-"

"-that we don't fucking need–"

"-it could work-"

"-OK!" Alice shouts, throwing her hands in the air. "Edward, you're brooding and want to be miserable. We got it! Rosalie, you have too much fun provoking Edward. Both of you, stop it."

I step back and shove my hands in the pocket of my sweats. I'm finished with the conversation. I turn on my heel and head out the large, front door. Just before it shuts behind me, I hear Alice swearing how great this is going to be.

I don't fucking think so.

When I return from my two mile run, I'm out of breath and drenched in a cool sweat. I tear my hoodie and shirt off in the living room, wiping sweat from my bare chest and stomach, and deposit the soiled clothes on the couch. The maid can attend to that. I can hear quiet chatter from the kitchen. I think I hear Carlisle's voice, and it's enough to propel me up the stairs as to avoid him and Esme.

"Edward?"

Shit. I rake my fingers through my hair and follow the sound of Esme's voice. In the kitchen, Rosalie is sitting atop the counter, a half eaten apple in hand. Jasper and Alice are in discussion with Carlisle but they stop when they see me. And standing between Carlisle and Esme is the new girl. I dislike her the minute I see her. She's painstakingly boring to look at. Her lifeless brown hair hangs down in front of her face, like she's trying to hide. She's wearing cheap jeans, old sneakers, and a plain black jacket. I can't help but smile, though, because I know her outfit is driving Esme mad. I exhale, decide the girl isn't worth a second glance, and turn to Esme.

"Yeah?"

"This is Bella," she says with a smile, putting a hand on Bella's shoulder.

The girl flinches away as if Esme slapped her. My face distorts in disapproval. What the fuck is wrong with her?

"Sorry," Esme mutters. "I'm sorry, Bella. I forgot."

Rosalie hops off the counter, shooting Bella a nasty grin over her shoulder, and walks behind me.

"She doesn't like to be touched," Rose whispers with a quiet laugh, exiting the room.

I roll my eyes at Rosalie. She's hazing Bella, but I don't care. She doesn't belong here anyway.

"Bella," Carlisle says softly. "This is Edward."

Her large, brown eyes flit to me for half a second, her face burns bright red, and then she looks down at her shoes. I feel myself grow annoyed quickly. She doesn't like to be touched and she can't even look people in the eyes. She has some serious fucking issues. I don't even know what to say to her, and I really can't make myself care. Esme gives me a stern look, and I roll my eyes again.

"Hi," I force out, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

She remains silent, still staring at her shoes. I raise my eyebrows expectantly and shift my gaze from Bella to Esme.

"Well? Is she deaf or something?"

Bella's eyes grow wide and she looks up at me, her lips parting slightly like she wants to speak but then she closes her mouth and, of fucking course, looks away again.

"Edward!" Esme exclaims. "Don't be so rude!"

"Come on, man. Lets head upstairs," Jasper says, hitting my arm as he walks past me. "Nice to meet you, Bella."

I tear my eyes away from Esme's glare and dare one more look at the new girl. I pause for a second, waiting for her to look up at me like I know she will even though I know she doesn't want to. And, like always, I'm right. Her brown eyes find mine and she flushes bright red again and looks away once more. I chuckle, shake my head, and leave the room without another word.

"Man, she went through some serious shit before she got fostered out," Jasper said, shaking his head and taking a seat on my couch.

"Shoes," I warn him, narrowing my eyes before he even dares to prop his feet up.

He ignores me and continues, "She was adopted out when she was younger and lived with them up until a year ago. They beat her and shit, probably did more than that but Esme likes to sweeten things a little bit."

A small part of me feels bad for her, but a larger part of me wishes she wasn't so fucking weak.

"She doesn't talk," he says.

"At all? She doesn't say anything?" I ask, raising my eyebrows.

"Nope. Hasn't said a word in years."

"So basically, you're telling me that Esme and Carlisle adopted the most fucked up girl in the entire country. She doesn't speak, she doesn't like to be touched, and she can't stand to look people in the eyes. They hit the fucking lottery."

"Ease up, man. She's had it rough. We probably don't know the half of it," he says gently, furrowing his brows at me.

"Whatever," I say reluctantly. "At least if she's quiet, I'll like her better than your bitchy sister."

This pulls a grin across his face and he nods in agreement, "You two can't get along to save your lives."

"I blame her," I mutter, pulling a t-shirt over my head and kicking my shoes off. "When's dinner? I'm starving."

* * *

**Bella**

"And this is your room," she says gently, opening the door for me.

The room is large. I have my own bathroom, I notice. That brings me a little peace. There's a large, four poster bed with thick, pink sheets in the middle of the room. A small, black leather loveseat is stationed directly at the foot of the bed. There's a sliding door wardrobe on the opposite wall, next to a dresser. A small nightstand sits next to the bed, and on the other side there's a bookshelf full of books. I take a deep breath and walk inside. I've never had anything so nice, but I feel very out of place. Everything is polished, new and expensive, and I feel as though a single touch will shatter everything.

"Make yourself at home. Carlisle brought your bags up for you. You can unpack whenever you're ready. Take your time, Bella. No one here is going to hurt you," she reassures me.

I want to look at her, to tell her I understand, but ever fiber of my soul forces my eyes to my shoes. I back away from her and nod slightly.

"Dinner will be ready in an hour. If you feel comfortable enough to join us, we'd really love for you to," she offers gently.

I turn my back to her and stare around my room until I hear the door click shut quietly behind her. I look over my shoulder, just to be absolutely certain that I'm alone. She's gone. I brush my hair out of my face and tiptoe across the room to where my bags sit on the floor. I soundlessly sit down next to them, careful not to make a sound. The zipper on my bag is loud in my ears as I open the bag and begin sifting through my clothes. They're all the same – a dull collection of jeans and t-shirts. I only own one pair of shoes.

The first thing I unpack are my notebooks. They're all black and they all look exactly the same. Four of them are worn and frayed at the neck. They are my most valuable possession. After CPS finally extracted me from the my adoptive parents a year ago, I underwent extensive psycho-analogy and therapy. Since I refused to speak, part of my therapy required writing. And in these notebooks I wrote everything – everything I endured, everything they did to me, said to me, and everything I felt. The notebooks have become my only outlet, and I cherish them. They're the only thing that never changes, no matter where I go or what anyone says or does to me. So I unpack them first and place them beneath my mattress, where they will stay unless I am writing in them.

I spend the next forty-five minutes unpacking my clothes. There's no point in pretending I have anywhere else to go, no point in leaving my clothes packed away until this family decides I'm too destroyed to try and put back together, and I know this. So I force myself to hang my shirts, fold my jeans, and tuck away my suitcases beneath my bed. My fingers trail across the bright pink comforter on the bed and I wince. The color is too vibrant, too bright. I turn it back and see the underside of it is white, so I quickly pull the comforter off the bed and flip it over so it's white. There, that's better.

I fish under my bed for notebook number five and retrieve a pen from my satchel. I sit on the loveseat at the foot of my bed, tucking my legs beneath me, and begin to write about the day. I start by recounting the moment I met Esme and Carlisle.

_I'm still confused as to why they wanted me, of all people. I thought I'd stay in the system until I turned eighteen. They were nice enough, nicer than Charlie and Renee ever were. Carlisle has a soft voice, but Esme seems a little more. . . High maintenance. They act like they understand me, as if they can sympathize with everything I've been through. But they still forget not to touch me and still try to coax me to look at them. They're not being mean, I think, they just really don't understand. But they want to, and that's enough for now. The manor they live in is large and expensive. I've never seen a house so large and beautiful before. I imagine if I'm here long enough, I'll try face my fear of being around people and maybe explore. I want to be better._

_I didn't realize they already had kids. Teenagers, I should say. They don't show the obvious signs of abuse, not like me, and that gives me a little peace of mind. I still don't trust them, though. Not after everything that's happened so far. Their kids are alright. Alice is sweet and patient. Jasper seems distracted and disinterested, which is fine by me. The less attention I get, the better off I'll be. It's Rosalie and Edward that I'm unsure about. Though I've spent less than ten minutes around them, I feel more uneasy around them than everyone else. I know they don't understand me, and especially Edward, they don't care to. Rosalie thinks it's funny to laugh at me. She thinks I don't notice, or I'm stupid, but I do notice and I'm not stupid. I already know to stay away from Edward. His voice is hard and his eyes are cold. I fear him the most._

A glance at the clock tells me that dinner should be ready any second. I fold the notebook closed, tuck the pen on top, and slide it back under the safety of my mattress. I hug my jacket tighter around me, nerves knotting in my stomach. Do I dare go downstairs to eat? My stomach growls at the thought of food. I decide to take my therapists advice and face my fears as much as I can possibly stand, because the truth is, I really do want to be better.

I can hear them talking about me before I ever reach the dining room, and I pause to hear what they're saying.

"Should I go tell her it's ready?"

"Don't push her, Alice. She'll come down when she's ready," Esme answers.

"She's fragile, Alice," Rosalie sneers. She's making fun of me.

My face flushes and I hate myself for being embarrassed.

"Has she said one single word to you?" Edward asks in an accusatory tone.

"She doesn't speak," Carlisle defends gently. "Her case worker told us why. It's a tragic story."

He's about to tell them all what happened to me, what they did to me, and my heart begins to race. I can't believe my case worker told them at all, that's personal! Unable to stand the thought of everyone knowing the darkest shades of my past, I stride quickly into the room, face flushed red and hands shaking, and stop Carlisle mid-sentence. Everyone looks up, surprised.

"Bella," Esme says, standing abruptly. "Please, have a seat. We were just sitting down to eat."

She pulls a chair out for me between Alice and Edward, but I'm reluctant to sit. The space between them is small and confined. I lower myself slowly and swallow back the trapped feeling that knots in my throat. I rub my palms on my jeans and remember my therapists advice to just breathe. Slowly. In and out. I breathe.

I can feel Edwards boring eyes glaring at me. It makes me uncomfortable. I lower my head, allow my hair to shadow my face, and pick up my fork to eat. The conversation dies for a few minutes, and I welcome the awkward silence. Surprisingly, it is Edward who speaks first. His rough voice startles me and I jump.

"How long is she here for?"

"Edward, she's sitting right next to you. Don't talk about her like she doesn't exist," Esme scolds.

He drops his fork on his plate and rests his elbows on the table in irritation, "Well she fucking acts like she doesn't exist so that's the way I'm going to treat her."

"Edward, stop," Alice says softly.

"Did you tell her why you're fostering her?" he challenges.

I look up briefly, my curiosity getting the better of my fear, but regret it when I see familiar, cold eyes staring back at me. I mentally scold myself and look back at my plate.

"Edward, don't–"

"The state pays them," he says sharply, looking directly at me and placing his hand on the back of my chair.

I look up at his face and feel trapped, like I have no exit. His arm is blocking one way, and Alice is too close on the other side. My hands begin to shake. His words confuse me. Fight or flight begins to set in as the fear takes over and all of my therapy flies out the window.

"All you'll see in their eyes are dollar signs. You're nothing to them. They'll get their money and they won't care a lick about you," he says coldly.

"Stop it!"

"Stop!"

Alice and Esme's voices rise to a shrill scream and the sound is madness to my ears. Everyone's arguing now, voices rising higher and higher. My heart begins to race. I close my eyes and try to calm down, but I'm beginning to have a panic attack and struggling to breathe. I open my eyes and see Edward with his hands clasped in his lap, watching everyone argue.

"Welcome to the family," he mutters bitterly.

* * *

Author's Note: So this is a new story I was inspired by while reading through some other fics. I hope you like it so far! Feel free to comment and tell me what you think. Any kind of feedback is greatly appreciated! :)


	2. Recollections of Misery

**Disclaimer/Trigger warning: **This story will contain explicit language, physical and mental abuse, and underage drinking. If you find any of this offensive or difficult to read, please do not read any further.

* * *

**Bella**

_Ten Years Earlier_

"Eat," he commanded in a severe, harsh voice.

He dropped the bowl of macaroni and cheese in front of me forcefully, spilling some of it down the front of my shirt and splattering it on my face. Without a second glance, he turned and walked into the living room, taking a seat on the couch and turning the tv on. He sat his full plate of food on his lap and propped his feet up on the coffee table.

"Bella!" He shouted, glancing over his shoulder at me. "Eat it, now, or I'm going to beat your ass!"

I looked up from the bowl of food defiantly. I left it on the front of my shirt and on my face. I wanted him to see the mess he was creating. My glares came with punishment, though, and he was hell-bent on teaching me.

"Son of a bitch," he swore under his breath, slinging his plate across the coffee table and rising angrily from his seat. "Don't look at me like that! Hey, you listen to me!"

I stared at him blankly through narrow eyes. He wanted me to show signs of fear, I knew it. He wanted to know he had complete and absolute power over me.

"Look down," he growled.

His hands roughly grabbed my face, fingers digging into my cheeks. His eyes were blazed with fury, and he watched me closely; waiting for me to obey him. When I refused to avert my gaze, refused to cower in front of him, he pulled his hand back and slapped me across the face. I heard the skin-to-skin blow before I felt anything, but seconds later fiery, red pain lit up the left side of my face. My mouth fell open and I winced, forcing myself not to cry.

"Now you eat this goddamn food that I made for you, or you won't eat until tomorrow," he thrust the bowl forward at me.

My first reaction, though stupid, was to push back. I shoved the bowl away from me and it toppled to the floor with a a thud – macaroni and cheese painting the floor orange. For a moment, he became awestruck. I didn't mean to spill it, and once I realized what I'd done I knew I'd regret it much worse than just glaring at him. I began to stand from the chair, to try and get away from him, but his hand gripped my arm like a vice. He started spitting curse words loudly into my ear. My face distorted as he shoved me onto the floor and my head connected. At first it dizzied me, and when I tried to push myself up my vision blurred. I felt his heavy foot on my back as he stepped on me, pushing me deep into the floor.

The breath left my lungs under his weight and I groaned, unable to cry out. My back began to ache, but he just kept pushing, putting more and more weight on me until I was desperate enough to try and crawl away. He lifted his foot from my back and a sob rushed from my lips. I tried to scramble out of his reach, but he was quicker than me. I felt his hand twist into my hair until my scalp threatened to bleed. I thrashed out, trying to desperately to make him release his grip on me. He pushed me back to the floor, using my hair as leverage to keep my face pinned down – immobilizing me. He quickly replaced his hand with his foot, pressing his heavy shoe on the side of my head. I began to scream. The harder I fought him, the more weight he put on his foot.

I heard him fumbling with the buckle on his belt.

"No," I began to beg, sobbing. "No, please! Please! Please, don't!"

"Shut the fuck up!" he screamed back at me, applying more pressure to my head.

I began to sob violently. My body shook with tremors from crying and my tears left a pool on the floor where my face lay. I felt him pull my shirt up, exposing my back. I tried begging once more, but he cut my cries short with the hardest lash of his belt against my bare back as he could possibly omit.

I made it through nine lashes before the pain made me black out.

_Present_

A shower doesn't help calm my nerves as much as I'd hoped. I wrap my hair up in a towel, pull on a long-sleeved pajama shirt and matching plaid pants, and sit down on my bed. I'm so thankful to have my own bathroom and not have the fear of anyone walking in on me. The solitude of my bedroom feels good, but I'm still struggling to stop my hands from shaking. The screaming at dinner flushed haunting memories to the forefront of my brain. I fear no matter how much I write in my notebooks and try to be better, the memories will never leave. The scars will never fade. And I'll never be normal.

I fall back on the bed and stare blankly at the ceiling. Why does life play out like it does? I could've just as easily been adopted by normal parents, living in the suburbs with two other siblings and golden retriever, playing soccer on Saturdays and having family night on Wednesday. But instead, I was placed in a family who didn't really want a child, who couldn't control their anger, who drank too much and did unspeakable things in the cover of the night.

I feel disgusting thinking about it all and actually consider stepping back in the shower. But I just sigh loudly and press the palms of my hands roughly into my eyelids until I see spots. I drop my hands and glance at the door. How late is it? Ten o'clock? Tomorrow is Monday, everyone has school so they should be in bed.

And then something else occurs to me. School. I haven't been to public school in three years, not since Charlie and Renee decided to homeschool me. The very pit of my stomach rises to my throat and I begin to sweat, trying not to vomit. I can't go to school. I can't be around that many people at once. No one would respect my privacy or even try to understand me. I sit up abruptly and put my head between my knees, closing my eyes and breathing slowly. Calm down. Just breathe. In and out.

I need to ask Carlisle and Esme to hold off on putting me in school. While I'm at it, I'll ask them to not spill everything they know about me to Edward, Rosalie, Jasper, and Alice. With a shaky hand, I reach beneath my mattress and grab my notebook. My writing is sloppy and quick, and it looks like a scared little child wrote it. I don't even care, though. I rip the page from the notebook and fold it in half. I jump from my bed and rush out my bedroom. I've not made it two steps into the hallway, haven't even had a chance to close my door behind me, when I slam face first into something solid and hard. I hear a sharp intake of breath, the sound of glass shattering, and then my feet are soaking wet. I fly backwards immediately, my eyes wide and pulse hammering. Edward glares down at his feet where the remnants of a glass of water lay shattered. I'm still back-stepping, stumbling to get away from him. Without thinking he grabs my arm and jerks me to the right.

"Don't step on the fucking glass!" he shouts.

I wrench my arm away from him, cringing from his touch. His harsh voice and rough fingers cause an onset of flashbacks that I can't ignore. I drop to my knees in the doorway of my bedroom and do what my instincts taught me; keep my eyes down and don't make a sound.

"What is going on?" I hear Carlisle ask loudly.

I can hear him rushing down the hallway. I press my face onto the ground, closing my eyes and curling my legs up to my chest. I begin mentally begging him not to hit me. God, please. Don't hit me.

"Bella," Carlisle says gently, bending down next to me.

I lie there waiting for the blow that I never received. Everything I was taught as a child screamed "do not flinch, do not pull away". And even now, when no one really means me physical harm, I can't get the training out of my head.

"What happened?"

"Hell if I know! She ran out of her room, about tackled me and made me drop my glass, and then she just lost her shit and curled up on the floor," Edward answered roughly.

"Go get Alice, please. You've done enough, Edward," Carlisle says in an exhausted voice.

He spends the next five minutes coaxing me to open my eyes and another ten convincing me it's okay to get up. Alice cleans up the broken glass and water without a word but many worried glances. I was fortunate not to step on any glass. When I finally regain my composure, I'm beet red with embarrassment. I retreat to my room and begin to shut the door, but Carlisle gently puts his in the way.

"Bella, are you okay?" he asks softly.

I nod in reply.

"Where were you going?"

It's then that I remember the note now crumpled in my hand. I look down, smooth it out, and hand it to him – careful that our fingers don't graze. He looks at the paper with furrowed brows and then back up at me, tilting his head to one side curiously.

"You were bringing this to me?"

I lower my gaze as I was taught and nod once again.

"Is there anything I can get you Bella?"

Without an answer, I close the door silently.

**Edward**

"What did you do to her?" Alice snaps.

I've never seen her so flushed with anger before, never thought she had it in her. The sight is amusing to me, and I sit back on the edge of my bed and watch her with light eyes.

"I didn't do anything to her," I say nonchalantly. "She ran into me and then freaked out."

"Edward, she is sick. Mentally – she's ill," Alice says softly, taking a seat next to me and giving me a serious look. "You can't treat her like you treat everyone else. She's been treated like shit her whole life until she's just a shell of a person. You've got to ease up."

"My god," I say with a roll of my eyes. "Why do you all baby her so much? You didn't have it too easy either, if I remember correctly, but you still function like a human being!"

"I think her experiences were far more traumatic than mine, and I think they started much earlier. All I'm saying is you don't have to like her being here, you don't even have to like her as a person, but try and have a little patience. Think before you speak, your words are like knives to the best of us."

"Fuck," I sigh and rub my temples. "I'll try, alright? But I'm not promising anything so don't expect much of a change."

Alice's face drops. It was clear she was expecting a different answer. Did she expect me to suddenly turn my attitude around? To feel sorry for Bella to the point that I treat her like a child? I can't make myself feel sorry for, I just don't give that much of a damn about her. Alice shakes her head in disappointment and heads for the door. Just as she's closing it behind her, she pauses.

"Carlisle wants you to apologize to her tonight," she says quietly.

It takes two hours to convince myself to apologize to her, though I don't feel like I actually owe her anything. I hope that by the time I make my way down the hallway to her bedroom that she's already asleep. I'm really not in the fucking mood to see her. I pause at her door and tap lightly on it with two fingers. The sound is barely audible. I wait for a few seconds, decide she's already gone to bed and turn to walk away when I hear the door creak open.

Of – fucking – course.

I turn slowly to face her, trying, and failing, to not look irritated. I rub my face roughly, trying to find the words I don't mean. She's standing with the door shielding half of her body. Her hair is covering most of her face, her eyes just barely peeking out around the dark cover. The urge to reach out and shove the hair out of her face is overwhelming, and I have to ball my hands together at my side to stop myself.

"I'm sorry," I force out in a whisper.

And she just stands there and stares at me. She doesn't make a sound, doesn't move an inch – just stares at me with tired eyes.

"I shouldn't have fucking touched you, okay? I get it, you don't like to be touched. Sorry."

For a brief moment, we just stand there in silence. I can't muster up anything better than the shitty apology I offered her, and she isn't offering up anything either. After a few seconds, she nods slightly and begins to shut the door. I smack my palm on the door, keeping it from closing.

"That's it? That's all I get? A fucking nod?"

This time, her shoulders shrug ever so slightly. I narrow my eyes at her. I can't tell if she's trying to be funny, if she's denying my apology, or if she just doesn't give a damn.

"Can you say anything?" I ask sharply.

She flinches, looks down, and shuts the door in my face. I stand there, staring at the door in bewilderment. She just shut this door in my face. She just _really _shut this fucking door in my face. I'm fuming when suddenly the door opens again and she's standing in front of me holding a notebook and a pencil. She writes something down and then turns the notebook so that I can read it.

"_Apology accepted. Happy now?"_

My mouth falls open slightly and I look back up at her face. She's being sarcastic. Who would've known she had a sarcastic bone in her tiny little body. For once, I don't know how to respond. I'm the one who can't speak.

"Learn to say it out loud," I murmur bitterly, and walk away leaving her standing in the doorway with her pathetic notebook in hand.

Instead of going to my room, I head to Jasper's. I knock on the door twice. I've make a habit out of knocking because I, myself, hate to have people barge into my room uninvited. After a moment, I hear him call for me to come in. I swing the door open hastily and slam it shut behind me.

"Poor little Bella has some snark in her after all," I say, leaning my back against the door.

"What?" he asks incredulously.

Jasper folds his laptop closed and gives me all of his attention.

"We had an incident earlier – long story short, Carlisle wanted me to apologize and I fucking did because I can actually be nice. . Sometimes. Anyway, she wouldn't speak, typical, but she wrote in a notebook and she actually caught a little bit of an attitude with me."

Jasper chuckles and crosses his arms, "What did you expect, man? You've been harder on her than anyone else, you had to believe eventually she would bite back."

"Yeah, I'd hardly consider this 'biting back', but she's not as weak as I thought. She has a backbone, however small it may be."

"I think it's funny. Maybe if she gets comfortable enough to talk, we'll have someone who can finally put you in your place."

I snort and roll my eyes at him, "Highly doubtful. Lets ditch tomorrow."

"I can't ditch, I have a test and I've been studying for the past two hours–"

"Okay," I toss my hands up and shake my head. "Never – fucking – mind."

"Hey, I wonder when she's going to start school? She's going to freak out. . ." his voice trails off and he looks genuinely worried for her.

"She's going to have to get used to it. Hiding and not talking isn't a way to live. She needs to suck it up."

"Suck it up?" He repeats in awe. "Edward, do you know what she's bee–"

"Yes, holy shit. I know what she's been through! But she's still alive and until she isn't she needs to learn how to fucking deal with it. Obviously her life here could be much worse than it is."

Jasper closes his eyes for a moment and opens his mouth to speak, but before he can his bedroom door flies open and Rosalie waltzes in, grinning from ear to ear. She claps her hands together before bracing them on her hips and nodding.

"Boy, do I have good news."

I don't take the bait, but Jasper does.

"What?"

"Esme and Carlisle are going out of town this weekend. You know what that means?"

I sigh and sit down next to Jasper. Just what I fucking need.

"House party!" she hollers.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Thank you for the reviews on the first chapter! Edward is a real dick, but he'll ease up later on... maybe.


	3. Skyfall

**Disclaimer/Trigger warning: **This story contains excessive language, themes of physical and mental abuse, underage drinking, and speak of rape. **This chapter** contains speak of suicide. If any of this is offensive or triggers you, please do not read any further.

**Bella**

I wake to the sound of rain tapping softly against my window. I roll over in bed, my gaze directed outside. The clouds are dark gray, threatening heavy rainfall any minute. But for now, it's a peaceful, calm shower outside. Fog shrouds the trees in the backyard. I pull the covers up to my chin. In this moment, I feel as calm as the rain outside. I welcome the warm feeling graciously.

As all good things must end, I roll over to the opposite side and check the time on the clock. I rub my eyes and exhale loudly. I didn't mean to sleep until 10. Pulling myself from the cover of my bed, I go into the bathroom and brush my teeth and hair. I don't bother changing out of my pajamas as I suspect I'm alone in the house. My footsteps are soundless as I pad down the staircase and into the kitchen. I empty the half full coffee pot, opting for fresh coffee, and begin brewing. The smell fills the kitchen and I close my eyes and inhale. The smell of fresh coffee is soothing to me. I look around the vast kitchen and silently wonder where the coffee mugs are kept. After opening cabinet door after door, I find them. I inwardly praise myself and smile as I pour myself a cup. I never had this kind of silence, this privacy, at my last house. I was left home alone frequently, especially at night, but I was never allowed the freedom to roam through the house. I was always forced into my small closet and locked inside.

I shove these thoughts to the utmost corner of my mind and carry my mug of coffee upstairs quietly. In the cover of my room, I retrieve my notebook from underneath my mattress. I walk over to the window seat and tuck my legs beneath me as I sit down. I blow gently on my black coffee, take a small sip, and place it to the side. Opening the notebook, I let my therapy begin.

_How hard must it be to have confidence in yourself enough to treat others respectfully? This, I believe, is the core of Edward's problems. From the minimal amount of time I've spent in his presence, he's recited almost every curse word known to the human race. He's easily angered (it reminds me of Charlie, minus the physical violence), and he can't control himself. I see some of myself in him. I understand what it's like to lose control of yourself. I remind myself to try and be patient, but his irritation for me holds no explanation. From the moment he laid eyes on me, he's had a cold, distant attitude towards me. Most people have the opposite – they give too much pity, try too hard to make me feel safe and open up. Edward is the opposite. He pushes me in a different way. I don't think I like it. I think I feel sorry for him._

_I've decided Carlisle is okay. He tries to make himself understand, he really does. He has all the patience with no expectations, and that's all anyone should have around me. I give him kudos for just wanting to understand. I know that won't be our crescendo, though. No one can ever really understand, not unless they've experienced the things I have first hand, you can never understand._

_But I appreciate the effort. _

I reach for my coffee and take a sip. My nose scrunches; the coffee has quickly turned cold. I fold the notebook up, squeeze it back in it's rightful place, and carry my mug back down to the kitchen. I'm pouring myself a fresh cup when a voice behind me causes me to jump and spill scalding coffee across the top of my hand.

"Bella?"

I wince and pull my hand back quickly, wiping the hot coffee off on my t-shirt and shaking my hand to try and make the pain stop. The burn grows more fierce and I bit my lip to keep from crying out. Next to me, I turn the faucet on and put my hand under the steady stream of cold water. The chill counteracts the burn momentarily and I'm flooded with physical relief.

"Oh, my god. Are you okay?"

I remember the other person in the room and my head twists to see Esme standing behind me looking over my face with a worried expression. I look back at my burned hand, raise a free hand to politely remind Esme to not touch me, and then I nod. I'm okay. I can feel the tension in the air among us. I know she wants to reach out and physically comfort me, to rub some cream on my red hand and tell me it's okay. But I just can't let her come any closer. When the pain is all but gone, I turn the tap off and pat my hand gently with a paper towel. I place my coffee mug in the sink, having decided I've had enough for one morning.

"Bella, why don't you come sit with me in the living room. We need to discuss something," she says quietly.

I follow her out of the room curiously. All of my serene, peaceful feelings of being the house alone have been washed away by the rain. Knowing I was never here alone, I feel uneasy. It's my anxiety. Though I know I'm not in any real danger at this particular moment, I still find myself scared. I take a seat on the couch opposite Esme. My thumb gently grazes the warm, red mark on my hand.

"I'm sorry I scared you. I wasn't thinking. . ." her voice trails off for a moment and she lets out a heavy sigh, dropping her face into her hands briefly. "I'm trying, Bella. We're all trying. I want you to understand that. We're not Charlie or Renee. We would never knowingly cause you any pain."

I can hear my heartbeat thrumming in my ears. Between her sentences, the silence I once welcomed becomes eerie. I want to know how much she knows about my past. Did my caseworker tell her everything? Did they just give Carlisle and Esme copies of the pages of my notebooks and let them see first hand the hell I went through for years?

"But as far as school as concerned, we just can't keep you out past tomorrow," she says quietly.

Tomorrow. My mouth drops open slight and I shake my head. This isn't real. I can't go to school in two days. I continue to shake my head until she notices me. Her face falls and she covers her lips with her fingers.

"I can't, Bella, the state won't allow it and we aren't home enough to homeschool you," she tells me apologetically. "Maybe public school will help you. You can make friends, maybe join a club or tw–"

Before she can finish her sentence, I propel myself off the couch. I will not cry in front of her, I refuse. I hear her calling my name, but I don't stop. My fast walk develops into a sprint and I bound up the stairs, closing my bedroom door behind me as soon as I reach it. I flip the lock into place just in case she dares to try and follow me, and when I'm sure I'm alone and can't be interrupted – that's when I really break down.

And that's the thing about breaking down; once you start, you lose control.. And when you lose control, you lose yourself.

**Edward**

I turn the windshield wipers off, lower the drivers side window fractionally, and blow a breath of white smoke out of the car. Next to me, Jasper grimaces.

"Now you're smoking in the car too? That shit stinks."

I exhale another breath of smoke and flick the excess ash outside the car.

"Then close your fucking nose," I retort, not bothering to look at him.

"What are we doing?" he asks in a bored tone, changing the subject.

"Killing time," I respond in an equally spiritless voice. "Putting off going home until I think that maybe Carlisle and Esme decided to leave for their business trip a little while earlier, or maybe they decided to pack the new girl's shit and take her back to the orphanage they picked her up at."

"I should be studying," he whispers, looking down at his lap.

"Do you ever live? Do you know what the hell fun is?" I ask with a shake of my head and a jab of my cigarette in his direction. "Night of the house party, you're going to let loose and have a good time."

"You really think a house party is a good idea?" he asks. "How do you think Bella will react?"

I pull my lips into a tight line and give him a dull look, "Hell no. It's the worst idea. Why do you think Rose is picking now to have a house party? She's doing this on purpose, in case you haven't noticed. Your sister is a bitch."

"You think she's being a bitch to Bella?" he echoes.

"Yeah," I shrug and flick my cigarette out the window. "Don't you?"

"I think you're acting the same way Rose is, actually."

I brace my hand on the steering wheel and shoot him a warning glance. He has some balls, I'll admit that.

"The difference being that I don't look for ways to make Bella's life another living shit hole," I defend harshly. "Rose wants to make her feel like shit and I just don't give a fuck how she feels."

"Tomato, potato. However you say it, it's still the same," he begins, opening the passenger side door. "I'll catch a ride with Alice. I really need to get home and study."

I roll my eyes emphatically and start the engine. He stares at me for a moment, as if waiting on me to say something but I'm finished with conversation. I raise my eyebrows as if to say, "_Well, what the fuck are you waiting for?_" He shakes his head and shuts the door. I turn the radio up to the highest level and blast it as I reverse and leave him standing in the parking lot waiting on Alice.

When I arrive home, I instantly change into my hoodie and running shoes and head out into the rain to clear my head. I don't make a habit out of running when it's raining and cold because I don't like being sick, but the past few days have made me more irritable than usual and I just want to clear my fucking head. I run until I'm gasping for air and drenched from head to toe. My rib aches slightly as I tread up the steps and into the house. I don't bother trying to dry off even though I know getting water all over the floor will annoy Esme. She likes her house in pristine condition. I don't give a damn.

I walk through the living room, my shoes squishing on the hardwood floor with every step. Esme hears me and runs into the room with a wild expression. I match her gaze with an equally steely look and she decides not to push me.

"Dinner is almost ready," she says forcefully. "Maybe change first?"

"Obviously," I snap, narrowing my eyes.

I take my sweet time undressing. I take a warm shower, dry my hair and pull on some sweats. I really don't want don't want to have dinner with everyone. It's just a show for Bella. We never eat dinner together. Usually, Esme and Carlisle aren't even home and it's the maid who cooks for us. We all take our plates into the living room or our bedroom. This dining as a family shit is a new thing, probably a pitiful attempt to make Bella feel comfortable. I force myself downstairs to find everyone quiet and already eating. Bella is absent.

"Did we send the new girl back already?" I ask in a mock innocent voice, taking a seat next to Alice.

"She hasn't come out of her room since this morning," Esme answers quietly, not looking up from her plate. "She won't answer the door, either."

"How do you know she hasn't off-ed herself and isn't, like, hanging by the shower rod or something?" Rosalie asks with a snicker.

"That's enough!" Carlisle barks, smacking his palm on the table loudly.

Everyone jumps except me. I watch them with a bored expression.

"You're both finished harassing her," he says sternly. "If I hear one more word–"

"–You'll what?" Rose interjects accusingly. "Kick us out? Decide we're the ones who need to be sent back? You won't get your pretty paycheck."

"It's not about the paycheck, Rosalie," Carlisle says, pressing his fingers to his temples and looking down.

"It's all about the fucking paycheck," I say, though I hate to take Rosalie's side on anything.

"Get up," he commands forcefully. "Both of you, to your room. Now. You can eat in there."

"I'm not even hungry," I growl under my breath, shoving the plate of food across the table.

I kick my chair back as I stand and everyone jumps at the noise. I begin to leave the room when Esme calls to me. Tensely, I turn around and narrow my eyes at her.

"Take Bella a plate, please," she asks softly.

Oh, my fucking god. I roll my eyes and stride across the room, grabbing my plate of uneaten food and jerking it off the table. I leave without another word. Upstairs, I can't hear any noise coming from Bella's room. I wonder briefly if maybe Rose wasn't right. Maybe Bella did give up and try to off herself. I rap lightly on the door and silence answers me. I knock again, harder this time.

"Bella," I call out.

I still get no answer. I have no fucking idea why I care, but I feel myself growing worried. I bang my fist on the door now and call her name more loudly. When I get no answer, I drop the plate of food on the floor at my feet and twist the doorknob. It's locked. I give it a hard shove with my shoulder and, much to my surprise, it opens and I topple forward. I get one glimpse of wide, red-rimmed brown eyes before my feet become tangled in Bella's and I fall forward on top of her.

She gasps like she's choking for air and begins twisting underneath me and shoving me away. I pull to my feet as quickly as possible and back away from her.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" I ask, staring down at her frightened body lying on the floor.

She's silent, just watching me. I can see her body visibly shaking. For a few seconds, she doesn't move. Then, she scoots backwards until her back is pressed to her bed and pulls her knees up to her chest. She's breathing hard, eyes focused on the wall behind me.

"I thought you were dead," I spat. "You could have at least let us know you were fucking okay."

Once her breathing has calmed and her tremors come in spurts, she looks back up at me. She inhales deeply and shakes her head slightly.

"What the fuck does that mean? No, you didn't try to kill yourself? Yeah, I can see that."

I stand in her doorway and wait for her to do something – anything. Move. Get up. Try to speak. At least acknowledge that I'm talking to her. But, as usual, all I get is another fucking nod. My agitation grows with every ticking second and I stare at the ceiling angrily.

"Why don't you just talk?" I mutter in annoyance.

I hear her footsteps pad across the room and look back at her, surprised. She pulls her fucking notebook off her nightstand and opens up a page where she writes something down. She rips the paper from the book and holds it out to me with shaky hands.

"_I can't._"

"You can't?" I give her a flat look. "You physically can't?"

She takes the paper from my hands, scribbles something on it and then hands it back to me.

"_It's complicated."_

I take a deep breath. Her handwriting is neat and crisp. My grasp tightens in frustration and the paper crumples slightly.

"Not that I give a damn," I say quietly, my eyes still on the paper. "But when was the last time you said anything out loud?"

She pauses, reluctant to answer me, almost as if she's ashamed. Her face goes red and she slowly pulls the paper from my fingers. It takes a few seconds before she writes anything on the paper and hands it back to me. I watch her for a moment before I read what she's written, but she keeps her eyes on her feet.

"_Five years ago."_

I didn't realize it at the moment, but it was reading this that made me begin to give a damn. My lips part and I exhale sharply, looking back up at her. She still refuses to fucking look at me. I hand the paper back to her and walk out of the room, retrieving the plate of food just outside. She's about to close the door when put my foot in the doorway and block her.

"Wait," I say.

Her eyes are tired when she finally looks at me, and as soon as our eyes meet she looks away again. I roll my eyes and offer her the food. She stares at it for a few seconds before reluctantly taking it from me.

"If you're going to hole yourself up in here, you at least need eat," I mutter.

She puts the food on her dresser and picks her pencil up again. She scrawls something down and hands me the note. I'm growing tired of this note shit, but I read it anyway.

"_Thank you."_

I give her a serious look before letting the paper fall to the floor and leaving the room.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Things are getting pretty intense. I really hope you're enjoying the story! Feel free to leave a quick review, I love to hear from you everyone! And thank you to everyone who left kind reviews! :)


	4. What Lies Beneath

**Disclaimer/Trigger warning: **This story contains excessive language, themes of physical and mental abuse, and underage drinking. If any of this offends or triggers you, please read no further.

**Bella**

I don't leave the comfort of my room for the rest of the night. I eat alone, keep my door locked, and don't answer when Esme knocks. It takes an hour and a half after Edward leaves before my hands stop shaking and I feel somewhat at ease again. I fill page after page of my notebook until my head feels empty and I can breathe again. When I am done, I stand in the shower and let the hottest water I can stand wash over me until I no longer feel as disgusting.

Every time I close my eyes, I feel Edward on top of me. And then he changes to Charlie, and I want to vomit. But instead of getting sick, I just cry. I cry until my head aches and my eyes burn. I hate Charlie for everything he did to me. I hate Renee for allowing it. But most of all, I hate myself. Because I gave in to him. I did exactly what he wanted; I stopped fighting back. I let him take everything from me – my dignity, my self respect, even my voice. And I hate myself for that. I cry until I fall asleep.

The next morning, the first thing I notice is the pounding in my head. I feel congested and achy, but I know it's only from crying so much. I pull myself slowly from my bed, rub my temples for a minute, and then leave my room. I go into the kitchen and fish through the cabinets until I find where the medicine is kept. I pop three ibuprofen and drink a full glass of water, silently hoping my headache leaves soon.

I try not to think about tomorrow. Just the thought of going to school makes my pulse skip. It's going to be bad. Worse than bad, it's going to be horrid. If I make it through the entire day without physically collapsing, it will be a miracle. I rub my swollen eyes and take a seat at the large dining room table. The house is silent, but I wonder if Esme isn't home like the day before. I rest my forehead against the cold, hard table and close my eyes. I just want to go one day without hating myself.

"You're up," a soft voice says.

I'm startled, and I sit up abruptly. It's Carlisle. He takes a seat across the table from me, laces his fingers together, and watches me closely. I avert his gaze and pick at my fingernails.

"Alice offered to drive you to school tomorrow," he says gently. "I've already talked to your teachers personally, Bella. I've explained the situation."

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I wonder how much he told them, and how much he, himself, knows.

"They're not going to expect you to talk," he whispers gently.

I shake my head. That's not it. He still doesn't get it. I don't feel comfortable around _anyone._ I don't know who to trust anymore. And every time someone touches me, brushes up against me by accident, my very vision is clouded with vivid memories of being hit, slapped, and beaten. My skin burns with scars of rough hands, and even gentle hands won't make them go away.

A noise pulls me from my thoughts and I look up. Carlisle is sliding a cell phone across the table to me. It's a matte black iphone, I recognize the Apple logo.

"I want you to have this. If you feel like it's too much tomorrow, someone will come and get you. I just want you to try, Bella. I need you to," he says.

I take the phone hesitantly and place it in my lap. I run my fingers over the cool, flawless screen. I've never had a cell phone before. I used to want one when I was younger, but I was quick to learn that desires are selfish, and selfishness is rewarded with punishment.

I nod and keep my eyes on my lap. I'm setting myself up for failure. I know there's no point in begging or crying, trying to get out of going to school. I do what my training has taught me up until now, what has been embedded in my brain for years; be quiet and obey.

I fix myself lunch and eat it my room, where I stay until sunlight turns to darkness. I want to prepare myself for tomorrow, so I stay in my room and don't leave for dinner. Like the night before, I hear a tap on my door. I stare at the door for a moment, hoping whoever it is will just leave. But the quiet knocking continues so I rise from my bed and tiptoe across the room, pulling the door open gently.

"Hi," Alice says softly, giving me a warm smile. She's holding a plate of food and balancing a glass of iced tea in her arms. "May I come in?"

I'm hesitant to let her inside. I do a quick sweep of my room, like I have something to hide even though I know I don't. My notebooks are tucked away. I watch the floor as I step back, pull the door open and allow her entry. She eases in slowly, patiently, and places the food on my dresser. She then takes a seat on my floor in front of my bed, crossing her legs indian style. She's giving me space, and I respect that. I slowly shut the door behind her and make my way over to the bed, taking a seat and pulling my legs beneath me.

"How are you doing?" she asks softly.

I look down at my lap, letting my hair cloud my face. How am I doing? How should I be doing? I just shrug.

"I know what it's like, kind of," she says quietly, looking around the room. "I didn't have it quite as harshly as I think you did."

I take a deep breath and watch her closely. Now it's Alice who's avoiding eye contact, and I'm holding my breath listening with intense concentration.

"They hit me too," she whispered. "Slapped me in the face when I played with my toys too loudly, spanked me harder when I cried."

She closes her eyes and for a moment I think she's about to cry.

"I get it, Bella. The trust thing. I just want you to know that I'm here for you, and if you ever need anything or anyone that it's okay to come to me," she looks up at me now with warm, worried eyes.

I want to say something, now more than I have in a long time. I want to open my mouth and spill out everything I've been writing down, let everything out. Even I have forgotten the sound of my voice. I want to let go, to be normal like Alice.

But I don't.

And she doesn't push me. She just nods and gestures to the food.

"I brought you dinner. I figured you were hungry. Get plenty of rest tonight, I imagine tomorrow won't be easy. I'll be there, though, if you need me," she says, standing from her sitting position.

I keep my eyes on my lap as she leaves, inwardly screaming at myself for being so weak. _Open your mouth, that's all you have to do. Just say something! _

But I can't.

The door closes with a quiet click behind her and then I'm alone again.

* * *

I wake myself at 5 o'clock the next morning to give myself adequate time to wake up and mentally prepare myself, though I know it doesn't really matter. I brush my teeth, my hair, and pull on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. As I make my way downstairs, I keep my face hidden by my hair – a bad habit that began when I was younger and felt scared or anxious. It makes me feel somewhat invisible.

"It lives," Rosalie sneers as I enter the living room.

"It's too fucking early for your shit, Rose," Edward retorts.

I close my eyes and fold my arms across my chest. I don't understand why Edward is suddenly defending me, but more-so I just wish I could defend myself. I take a seat in a recliner, as far away from everyone else as possible, and try my hardest to take up as little space as I can.

"Do you have a coat, Bella?" Alice asks politely.

I don't look up. I pick at a frayed shoelace on my worn converse and shake my head no.

"Of course not," Edward growls under his breath.

I hear the sound of a zipper and my heart plummets. Before I can move, a black jacket is dropped in my lap. I jump slightly and look up, but Edward is already walking away from me. I grab the jacket and follow him. He hears my footsteps and spins on me.

"If you try and give that fucking jacket back to me I will literally go off on you," he whispers hotly.

I take a step back, not much surprised by his language and anger, and lower the jacket. Inhaling deeply, I look back up at him but he's already walking away again.

"He doesn't do nice things very often," Alice says from behind me. "You should just take it. He has plenty."

I reluctantly pull the jacket on and zip it up. It smells like cool cologne and cigarette smoke. I can hear Rosalie muttering about me from a few feet away, but I try to ignore here.

"Let's go ahead and leave, we shouldn't be late," Alice says gently, gesturing for the front door.

I walk past her, careful not to touch her, and walk through the front door. Alice drives a bright yellow mustang. It's so very. . . Alice. And noticeable. Just the opposite of the death trap I'd like to arrive at school in. But all the same, I silently climb into the passenger seat and tuck my hands beneath my legs. Though I have Edward's jacket, I still find myself shivering. At least it isn't raining.

Forks High School is much closer than I'd imagined, though the town is so small it makes sense. It takes less than five minutes before we're parked and Alice is looking at me nervously.

"Are you ready?" she asks, even though I suspect she already knows the answer.

Of course I'm not ready. I could've had six months to prepare and I still wouldn't be ready. The door creaks as I push it open and step outside. Crowds of teenagers stand around the parking lot laughing, talking, and making a lot of noise. I watch them all for a moment, longing to be a part of something solid. And then I drop my eyes and walk around the car where Alice is waiting. She hands me a small slip of paper.

"These are your classes. I'm going to find you between classes and walk you to each one, okay? Unfortunately, we don't have any together. I think you have one or two with Edward and Rosalie, though," she says.

I glance over the slip of paper before tucking it away inside the jacket. I don't need to stare at it any more. I follow closely behind Alice as she walks me inside the building. I can feel people staring at me, and the attention makes my face flush crimson and burn. I keep my gaze down, watching Alice's heels as we walk. She holds the door for me and I walk through. The hallway is crowded with kids pulling books from their lockers and standing around talking. I take a deep breath, feeling extremely overwhelmed and suddenly having to remind myself to breathe.

"It's okay," Alice whispers. "Take your time."

I press my back against the wall, lean my weight back, and close my eyes. The bell overhead rings loudly and I jump, sidestepping violently.

"Hey, hey. It's okay, it's just the bell," Alice says, holding her hands up innocently. "It's okay. Let me show you to your class."

I'm late arriving to first period. Before I could walk through the hallway without having a panic attack, I had to wait for it to clear out.

"Sorry, Mr. Davis, we got caught up," Alice tells my teacher after she's brought me to the classroom.

"Bella, of course. Have a seat, please," the man says.

I give Alice one look before my eyes make it to the classroom. Edward and Rosalie aren't present and there's only one empty seat, so this isn't the class I have with them. Everyone's watching me closely. My hands grow clammy and begin to shake as I make my way silently through the room and ease into the cold, hard seat.

"You must be new," someone says from directly behind me.

I close my eyes and breathe. I don't know what to do. Do I turn around and acknowledge him or would it be better to just ignore him?

"Hey, new girl, I'm talking to you," he says.

Then, his fingers tap my shoulder and I wrench forward, gripping the desk until my fingers are bone white. I'm embarrassed. My face is on fire and my chest is tight. I can't look around the room because I know everyone is staring at me. I fixate my gaze on the teacher's desk and mentally beg to become invisible. I hear everyone begin whispering, and I know they're talking about me. I tilt my face down and let my hair completely cover their view of me.

"Okay, eyes up here, please," the teacher says, regaining everyone's attention.

He doesn't mention my name or anything about me, and for that I'm eternally grateful.

When the bell finally rings, I jump. I never moved from my position – hunched over and gripping the edge of my desk. I wait until everyone has filed out of the room before I stand and make way for the exit. The teacher calls my name, but I'm in no state to deal with that right now so I ignore him and start out the doorway.

But the hallway is packed with people.

I pause and brace myself on the doorframe. I feel lightheaded and I can't think clearly. I just need to breathe, just stay calm. I try to remind myself that I'm okay, that no one here will hurt me, but the weight on my chest grows heavier and I begin to panic. Where is Alice?

"Hey!"

I recognize the voice. It's the guy who tried to talk to me in class. My eyes meet his for a moment before I step outside the doorway and into the hallway. I press myself against the wall and inch away from him. He furrows his eyebrows and looks around, confused.

"Hey, I'm sorry. Did I upset you or something? Because I didn't mean to. I just wanted to introduce myself. My name is Mike," he says quickly.

I don't hear half of what he says. My pulse is thundering in my ears. All I can see are fast, shuffling feet in the hallway and all I want is silence and solitude. My breath is coming in short spurts now and I squeeze my eyes shut. _Don't do this here, please. Get control of yourself, Bella. Not right now._

"Hey, are you oka–"

And then I feel his hand on my shoulder again, trying to get my attention, and I lose what little mental control I had. I jerk violently away from his touch, feel myself beginning to cry, and pull at my hair desperately.

"Newton!" I hear a familiar voice boom. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

"Man, I didn't do anything! All I did was ta–"

"Did you put your hands on her?" Edward asks accusingly.

I slide down the wall until I feel the floor, and let my head rest between my knees. I can't breathe and I can't stop crying. My whole body is trembling and the harder I try to fight it the worse it becomes.

"Did I wha-"

"Did you put your fucking hands on her? It's a yes or no question!"

I nod once, and then twice. I hear Edward swear under his breath and he bends down until he's level with me. I can feel his breath on my face as he whispers loud enough for only me to hear.

"Unless you want me to pick you up and carry you out of this shit hole, I need you to pull yourself together for five minutes and stand up,"

I place my shaky palms on the cold, tile floor and push myself up. I can't bring myself to look at him.

"Lets go," he says under his breath.

He walks to my right, blocking anyone from touching me as we make our way down the hallway. I walk as close to the wall as possible, trying to stay as far away as I can, even from Edward. Once we're outside, I inhale the fresh air deeply and exhale it with a loud sob. I cover my face and my shoulders tremble as I begin to really cry.

"Try and wait until you get inside the car," he comments darkly, urging me forward.

It's sprinkling outside now and I my knees begin to tremble as I pause for Edward to unlock the doors to his car. I climb in quickly and bend forward, resting my forehead on the dash. I let my hair fall so that Edward can't see my face. I don't like to cry in front of anyone, but I can't control it right now. The driver side door shuts loudly and he pauses before putting the keys in the ignition.

"I knew that would go great," he says sarcastically. "Unless you learn to get over this little problem you have, this is what you're going to deal with every single day."

The drive home is quick, and as soon as the car is in park I thrust the door open and make a break for the house. Edward doesn't call out to me or try to catch up to me. And when I lock my bedroom door and stay in there for hours, he never comes to check on me.

His words echo in my head. _Unless you can learn to get over this little problem of yours. . . _

Just get over it? He makes it sound so simple. So much more simple than it really is. I want him to understand what it's like living in my body – being me. I pull the notebook from underneath my bed and begin writing.

_You probably think I'm crazy. Maybe I am. I know I have issues, I know them better than you. This isn't something you can just get over. You don't know half of what I've been through. You don't know me, no matter how well you think you do. I can't stand another person to touch me because for six years the only time I felt human contact was during punishment; when I was being slapped across the face or kicked in the face, shoved to the ground, choked, or whipped. And every fiber of another person's skin against mine sends me spiraling back to the time when I was pinned to the floor and beaten until I passed out. I can't look at anyone because for six years I was slapped across the face for "looking cross" or glaring, even though I didn't mean to. And I can't can't speak because for six years every time I made a noise, I got locked in a small closet for hours. My screams and cries for help would be ignored until my panic attacks made me black out and I stayed quiet for a few hours. _

_So don't tell me to just get over it when you don't even know what I have to "get over"._

I fold the piece of paper neatly and pause outside of Edward's bedroom door. I'm having cold feet. I suddenly feel anxious, and shift uncomfortably from one foot to the other. I take a deep breath, bend down, and slide the paper beneath his door. Then, I retreat back to my room as quickly as my feet will carry me without making a sound.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Thank you SO much for the wonderful reviews! I'm glad you like everything you're reading so far! I hope I keep you interested and you keep coming back for me! :)


	5. Get Well

**Disclaimer/Trigger warning: **This story contains excessive language, themes of physical and mental abuse, underage drinking, and speak of rape. If this offends or triggers you, please read no further.

**Edward**

When I see the perfectly folded piece of paper slide beneath my door, I know instantly it's from her. I glare at the door, wondering if she's still standing on the other side like an idiot. The events from today further proved that this girl has some serious fucking issues, and I don't think there's a chance in hell that anyone can get through to her. My thoughts are confusing me, and I roughly run my fingers through my hair. On the one hand, I think she needs to chill the fuck out. No one's going out of their way to slap her around. On the other hand, I feel a violent urge to protect her. And I can't explain it or figure out, no matter how long I spend racking my brain.

I rise from my couch and cross the room, plucking the paper from the floor. I take my seat once more and begin to read. From the first word, she captures my attention. And when I'm done, I don't know what to think – let alone say. I lean back on the couch and try to imagine Bella as a child. I imagine someone stuffing her inside a closet as she cried and begged them not to, then slamming the door in her face. I imagine someone slapping her, kicking her in the face – I'm physically disgusting. I'm fucking furious.

And then, without even realizing it, I try to imagine the sound of her voice. Is it soft? Is it high? Or is sultry and smooth? I try to imagine her smile, which anyone has yet to see, and the way her eyes must light up when she's happy. I try to imagine the way her skin feels. Is it warm and silky?

"What the fu–" I whisper out loud, outraged at myself.

My thoughts shifted so quickly, so easily, I never ever noticed it until I was knee deep in them. I rub my face roughly and try and clear my head. I need to go on a run, to empty my thoughts, but first I need to talk to Bella.

I expect her to still be awake, probably expecting me to come talk to her. Maybe we know each other better than I could have imagined, because when she opens the door she doesn't look the least bit surprised. I hold the piece of paper up, watching her, and she drops her gaze to her feet like I knew she would. Without a word, she takes a step back and opens the door to allow me entry. I crumple the paper slightly and walk in. I look around slowly. I've been in this room hundreds of times, but now it feels foreign. It's _her_ room. This is where she sleeps, retreats and one of the only places, I suspect, that she feels truly comfortable. For a moment, I'm unsure where to sit, but she crosses the room and sits at the head of her bed, resting her back against the headboard. She points to the foot of the bed expectantly. I'm surprised that she's comfortable letting me sit on her bed at all, but I do as she asked.

"What the fuck did he do you today?" I question angrily, thinking first of Mike.

Bella closes her eyes, leans across the bed and picks up that damn notebook, and begins.

"_Nothing I shouldn't have found normal."_

I give her a hard look, "Okay, stop. You're not going to throw yourself a goddamn pity party, and if that's your plan then I'm leaving."

She flushes red and puts the notebook back in her lap. For a long second, she just sits there. I begin to wonder if this is her way of telling me I fucked up and she wants me to leave. I'm about to get up when she picks up the pencil and writes.

"_He touched my shoulder. Twice."_

I nod slowly and watch her closely. That's all it takes to really send her over the edge – one touch. She's so fucking fragile, so breakable. Being around her is like holding a kitten; you want to hug her and squeeze the life out of her at the same time. I want to test her, push her, but also protect her. It makes no fucking sense.

"If Mike Newton ever puts his hands on you again, or anyone else for that matter, I want you to tell me. Do you understand?" I ask in a serious tone.

She looks up at me, almost confused, but she nods and then looks away again. It drives me so fucking insane that she won't just look at me. I take this moment to really look at her. Her hair isn't quite as dull as I'd first thought, and her eyes, when I can see them, are a warm shade of brown. She has full, pink lips and a petite face.

I run my fingers through my hair and stand abruptly. I shouldn't be thinking about her like this. She's way too messed up for me, I can't do all of this bullshit. But I look at her and she gives me a sad look. She doesn't want me to leave, but it's a feeling she's unfamiliar with so she doesn't know how to ask me to stay. I growl under my breath and sit back down on her bed.

"Do you plan on going the rest of your life writing on that damn paper when it would be worlds easier to just talk?" I ask growing irritated, more at myself than her.

"_I hope to not."_

We sit in silence for a few minutes. I'm not sure what to say at this point. I don't want to bring up her past, though she willingly offered it to me, but I also don't think talking about every day things is going to lead anywhere either. But Bella fills in the space for me.

"_What's your story?"_

"My story?" I ask, somewhat surprised.

The last thing I expected was for her to ask about me, but she nods her fucking head and gets comfortable.

"There's not much to say. Esme and Carlisle found me when I was seven," I let my voice trail off for a second and glance up at her. She's watching me intently, hanging on my every word. No one has ever been interested in my story before. I clench my jaw, thinking, and then continue. "My birth mother was on heroine and my father ditched before I was born. I lived with her until I was two, but I don't remember her at all."

"_What's the earliest memory you have?"_

I look up from the paper and twist my face, trying to remember as far back as I can.

"I remember the second boys home I was put in around age five. I remember one family coming in and meeting all of us, deciding which one to adopt. It was like being at an animal shelter and looking for the perfect puppy, except you're the puppy. And I remember they took another kid home and I felt like shit. I wondered what was wrong with me. Why didn't they want me, you know?"

Her eyes are full of concern when I finally look at her and she looks down at her notebook, picking at the edge of the papers. I sit back and wonder what the hell I'm thinking. I've never told anyone that before, not even Jasper. So why her?

"What's your earliest memory?" I dare to ask her.

She takes a deep breath and writes for almost a minute straight. I watch her deft fingers draw on the paper, her penmanship so elegant it's captivating.

"_I remember the day I went home with Charlie and Renee. I remember being so happy that I had a family, someone who cared about me. They were so nice and loving. Renee was wearing a beautiful blue dress, and I remember thinking she looked like a princess. And when I told her that, she bent down and told me that I was the princess. Everything seemed so perfect."_

I'm about to open my mouth to ask her when things changed – went from perfect to tragic – but she bends her face over her notebook and begins writing again.

_"You feel sorry for me, don't you?"_

I stare at her blankly for a moment and then nod, "Yeah, I do."

She begins scribbling quickly now, and practically forces the paper in my face.

"_Do you know why I chose to tell you about my past?"_

"I have no fucking idea," I respond with a shake of my head. And it's the absolute truth.

"_Because I don't want anyone to feel sorry for me, I just want them be patient. I want them to understand why I am the way I am, but not pity me for it. I don't need pity, I need space. I need time. I don't expect you to understand, I just expected you, least of all, to be the one who doesn't feel sorry for me."_

Her words make my brain run a thousand times faster. I grow more irritated because I actually feel disappointed in myself. I didn't give her what she needed, I gave her the opposite. I rise from the bed and cross the room to the window. I fling it open and light a cigarette. The cool air is sharp in my lungs and the nicotine contrasts it warmly. I spend the next minute trying to figure out what I'm feeling, but I have no fucking clue. I don't want to give a fuck about her feelings. I _don't_ like her. I still think she needs a stronger backbone, and I still think she needs to chill the fuck out, but I don't want to be the one to hurt her.

"How old were you when it started?" I ask quietly, as softly as I can, keeping my eyes set outside and blowing out a breath of smoke.

I hear the pencil tattooing the paper as she writes. I hear her quiet footsteps padding on the carpet as she slowly crosses the room and stands behind me. Taking one last drag off my cigarette, I flick it out the window and turn to face her. I must be standing too close, because she looks down at her feet and takes a step back before handing the paper between her fingers.

"_It's hard to say. It's a progressive thing, it doesn't happen overnight. In the beginning, things were good. I liked them, and they seemed to really care about me. I started getting in trouble for normal things, and that progressed into getting spankings for things I did on accident; spilling something or knocking something over as I ran by. From there, it just spiraled out of control until they no longer needed a reason to punish me, or went out of their way to justify it be finding a reason."_

I pinch the bridge of my nose with my fingertips and close my eyes. I don't know why she trusts me. I sure as hell wouldn't trust me if I were her. I watch her bite her lip, switch her weight from one foot to the other, and cross her arms over her chest.

"Do I make you uncomfortable?" I ask seriously.

She shakes her head frantically and pulls the paper from my fingers.

"_Not with your presence but with your words."_

I crumple the paper up, all the lines are filled with her words now anyway, and toss it to the ground.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask, my tone more accusatory than I mean.

She sighs and walks back over to the bed where she rips another page of her precious paper free, and her pencil flies as she scrawls her words down quickly.

_"You're a dick."_

When I read it, I laugh. A real, eyes-closed-mouth-wide-open laugh. It's so fucking true. And when I open my eyes, she's smiling. There it is. Her teeth are flawlessly straight, and when she smiles her face changes. I don't see the girl with a million scars and a fucked up past who can't stand physical contact. I see a young girl with dancing eyes and a sweet smile.

And then I wonder what the fuck I'm doing again. I stop, hand her back the paper and shake my head. I remind myself how screwed up she is and back away from her. Her face drops and a confused expression, followed by lonely sadness, flashes across her face. My face twists and I have to look away from her.

"I'm sorry I told you to just get over it earlier. That was fucked up," I tell her in a low voice. "Look, I don't know how to say this without being an ass, but it's better if you and I don't get too close to each other."

I expect her to be hurt, possibly even cry because she's so fucking sensitive, but she doesn't. She just stares blankly at my chest, unable to look at my face, and then writes something on yet another damn piece of paper.

"_Better for who?"_

"Both of us," I answer darkly.

I don't give her a chance to respond before I stride briskly from the room and slam the door as lightly as possible behind me. I don't make it three steps down the hallway before Rosalie's snide voice bloodies my eardrums.

"_What_ were you doing in Bella's bedroom?"

"Freak show Bella?"

I spin around furiously and glare at Rosalie and her boyfriend, Emmett.

"Don't fucking call her that," I warn him heatedly.

He throws his hands up and grins impishly, "Hey, man, chill! It was a joke."

"Edward doesn't have a sense of humor," Rose interjects, tilting her nose in the air all high and fucking mighty. "Are you two suddenly a thing?"

"No," I answer instantly. "Of course we're not a fucking _thing_."

She takes a step closer to me, tilting her head to one side and grinning. "Then why are you suddenly so defensive over her? And why are you evading my first question? What were you doing in her bedroom?"

"Because that's none of your goddamn business," I spit angrily.

"You like her," she laughs, pressing a hand to her heart in mock amusement. "Oh, my god. You actually like her."

She knows it's not true, but she pounces on any opportunity to make fun of me that she can get her slimy hands on. She wants to get under my skin, like always, and she will say literally anything to get a rise out of me. And that's exactly what she gets.

"Go fuck yourself, Rosalie. You don't know what the hell you're talking about," I snap at her, turning my back to her and starting for my room.

"How is that going to work, I wonder? Dating a girl you can't even touch," she asks, having far too much fun making fun of me. "I mean, how are you two supposed to kiss? Sex is completely out of the question so I imagine you'll end up cheating on her just like the last one."

At this, I lose control of my anger. I see red as I whirl on her and step dangerously close, my face inches from hers. I narrow my eyes and stare down at her with the coldest gaze I can muster.

"If you don't shut your fucking mouth, I swear to God I'll shut it for you. You think I like her? I don't give a single fuck about her. And I damn sure don't give a fuck about you or a damn thing that comes out of your mouth. If you say one more word to me, you will regret it.

Emmett steps between us and puts hand on my shoulder, pushing me back a few steps. His eyes tell me I've crossed a line with Rosalie and he doesn't like it. I still can't find it in me to give a fuck.

"Edward, you're cool, man, but if you ever threaten Rose like that again, you and I are going to have serious problems."

Rosalie snickers at me and steps around Emmett, tossing her hair over her shoulder and walking towards her bedroom. Every few steps, she glances over her shoulder and smiles at me. I would never put my hands on a woman, but right now it's probably better for her that Emmett is here to defend her. I clench my jaw, tighten my hands into fists, and leave Emmett standing alone in the hallway.

* * *

Morning comes way too fucking early for me. The first thing I do is stretch, get out of bed, and light one up. I exhale slowly and watch the cherry burn, savoring my morning cigarette. There is nothing quite like your first hit of nicotine when you first wake up. I rub the sleep from my eyes, press the butt into my ashtray, and immediately brush my teeth. I get dressed and head downstairs with enough time to grab breakfast before I have to leave for school.

I hope Bella kept up with my jacket, which was my favorite one, by the fucking way, because I don't plan on giving her another one today. When I walk into the kitchen, the whole gang is there – pushing around trying to snag a quick bite to eat. Except Bella, who just stands off to the side and watches her shoes. She doesn't even look up when I enter the room. I watch her for a few seconds, wondering what's going on in that head of hers, before I catch Rosalie eyeing me curiously. I give her a warning glare and she just laughs under her breath.

"What's so funny?" Jasper asks, breaking the silence between bites of toast.

"Nothing," I snap, trying quickly to change the subject. "When are Esme and Carlisle going out of town?"

"They left this morning, about an hour ago. The party is tomorrow night," Rosalie answers.

"Who did you invite?" I ask her carefully. I already know the answer.

"Everyone."

As we're all I getting ready to leave, I notice the way Bella is dressed; her usual jeans, t-shirt, and those ugly sneakers she apparently loves, but my jacket is nonexistent. _You have got to be fucking joking me. _

"Why aren't you wearing the jacket I gave you?" I whisper, careful to keep my voice low enough so only she can hear.

If she were a total stranger to me, I would think she was actually deaf. She didn't move, flinch an inch, or make any physical gesture to show that she heard me. Didn't even acknowledge my existence. Instead, she pulls out a cell phone and turns her back to me.

I know she didn't just fucking ignore me.

And then I hear a _ding _and pull my phone out of my jacket pocket. It's a text from an unknown number, but I know it's from her. She must have left her precious notebook upstairs.

"_Did you magically find a single fuck to give about me?"_

All I can do is stare at the text on the screen and think about just how royally I've fucked up.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Yay! I've been waiting to write some good Edward/Bella dialogue since chapter one! Thank you so much for reading, and for reviewing the last chapter! Drop a comment let me know what you thought of this one. :)


	6. Cat and Mouse

**Disclaimer/Trigger warning: **This story contains explicit language, themes of physical and mental abuse, underage drinking and speak of rape. If any of this offends or triggers you, please read no further.

**Bella**

"I'm so sorry about yesterday. I tried to make it back to you as soon as I could, but my class was on the other side of the campus. . ." Alice says apologetically once we're in her car and headed to school.

I stare emotionlessly ahead and watch the lines on the road as we drive. I don't nod or dare to look at Alice, I just keep still and keep my mouth closed. I feel exceptionally hollow today – just numb. Not because of what Edward said about not caring about me, but because it reminded me of the worthless feeling I've grown so accustomed to. I spent most of the previous night writing in notebook number five and thinking. I got very little sleep, and the evidence is painted in dark blue circles under my eyes. I long to be like Alice, and even Rosalie. I want more than anything to be able to sit down with friends and joke and laugh rather than be constantly drowning in worry that at any moment someone will put their hands on me. I want to be able to sit in a classroom without feeling like I'm choking because the room is growing smaller and everyone around me is getting closer. I want to talk. God, do I want to talk. But I worry that after so many lessons forced to teach me shut up that I've forgotten how to use my voice. The stronger my desire to be normal grows, so does the voice in my head that reminds me how pathetic I am. Because I don't truly believe I can ever be normal.

Edward was right about one thing, though: it is better for us to not get too close. Because we're both damaged individuals separately, at best, but together the combination is like gasoline to a flame. He speaks before he thinks, says the first thing that pops into his head without acknowledging the consequences or considering the feelings of anyone else. And my brain is hard wired to be sensitive to the words spoken to me because for so many years the only time I was ever spoken directly to was to be punished. And if the words were laced in anger, I knew it would be really bad.

These combinations are explosive.

Alice parks the car and I'm about to force myself out when I feel a small vibration against my thigh. Startled, I jump slightly and lift my butt off the seat. I find it relieving to know the feeling was just my phone vibrating. I pull up the text and read it quickly, ignoring Alice's growing curiosity which has begun to generate some very obvious stares.

"_Come talk to me before you go to class."_

"_No."_

I press send and drop the phone back in my lap, closing my eyes and inhaling sharply. I'm not mad at Edward, not really. I'm not even upset at him. If he really doesn't care about me, that's okay – not that I particularly believe it. But I don't count it as a huge loss. I knew when Edward came to my room that our friendship – if you'd even call it that – would burn out fast. I knew it wouldn't last simply because it takes more patience to handle someone like me than he's capable of. And because he's too inconsiderate. And it was hearing him tell Rosalie how much he really didn't like me that made me realize we do need to keep our distance from each other. Edward can't handle someone like me, and I sure as hell can't handle someone like him.

"_Bella, just please let me fucking explain."_

"_I'm over it."_

I step out into the cold air, allowing the wind to whip wisps of hair into my face and keeping my eyes low. I want to become as invisible as I feel, but I hear my name being said among groups of people as I pass by. My face burns and I keep my head down, trying my hardest to ignore their voices. But still, my ears are stronger than my desire to ignore them and I catch their quiet whispers.

_She looks so sad._

Pity. I loathe it.

_What's her problem?_

Which one?

_She's got issuess._

You have no idea.

My eyes drift up to Alice's back as we walk. I pause as she opens the door and a breath of warm air flushes my red cheeks as I follow her inside. The hallway grows smaller, the air thicker, and my chest grows tight. I feel compressed, trapped.

"Don't listen to them," Alice whispers, sensing my distress. "You're new and they're bored. That's all it is."

I barely hear her over the blood pounding in my ears. My thoughts are split down the middle and both halves are screaming at me.

_You're fine, Bella. Just breathe._

_You're wasting your time. You can't do this._

I shiver and rub my arms, goosebumps peppering my skin. I should've worn the jacket, but my stubbornness got the best of me this morning. I feel a silent vibration from my pocket and sigh as I pull my phone out. Alice is in my ear trying to urge me forward, saying we'll be late for class, but I openly accept the pause and press my back to the wall as I read the text.

_"You don't understand."_

Edward remains two steps behind. He doesn't understand. I push the phone back down to the safety of my pocket and force myself forward – more to avoid Edward trying to find me before class. The bell has rang and crowds are diminishing, so making my way to first period is somewhat easy. Alice pauses next to me outside the door.

"You can talk to me too, you know," she says with a hurt expression. "Or text, if that's what you're doing."

I glance at her briefly before looking back down and shifting my weight. I give her a slight nod and walk inside the class. I feel bad for shutting her out when Alice, above anyone else, is genuinely trying to help me. Though she would probably be more understanding, I know all I would see in her eyes is pity. I know she would feel sorry for me. But at this point I'm so desperate for someone to listen to my silence, I consider enduring her sad eyes just to keep from being so alone. For the time being, I turn my thoughts to trying to make it through one class.

The room goes deadly quiet as I close the door softly behind me, but the click sounds like a slam in the deafening silence. My eyes remain on my feet until I slide into my seat. I tuck my arms in and hold my legs together tightly, trying to compress myself and take up as little space as possible. No one tries to speak to me.

I make it through the class without another incident. I never glance up and never move an inch. After what feels like agonizingly long hours, the bell rings. I jump and exhale sharply, not even realizing I'd been holding my breath. Everyone files out of the room without acknowledging me, for which I'm grateful. I remain seated, gaze drifting to the door. I fear moving, though the room is void of anyone but the teacher. Hesitantly, I make my way to the doorway and the hustling in the hallway is loud in my ears. I look around for Alice, feeling my anxiety beginning to rise again, but she's absent once more.

"You're Isabella, right?" a quiet voice says from next to me.

I whirl and step backwards away from the girl speaking to me.

"I told you not to do this," a second girl whispers to the first.

"Jess, hush," the first girl says before turning her attention back to me. "I'm Angela, this is Jessica.. You're Isabella, right?"

I'm suffocating. The air in the room is a thousand pound weight on my head that is forcing me to the floor. I open my mouth and force air into my lungs. Close my eyes and try to pretend like I'm not choking on their words. But I am. And they continue to push me.

"Maybe she's deaf," Jessica says quietly, thinking I can't hear her.

The first thing I see are her shoes as she steps closer to me. I can't pull my eyes up to look at her face, but I know she's too close. And before I can match her step closer with one away, I see her hand coming up to touch me and I lose it. My vision swims, my world tilts and the ground rushes up to meet me. The last thing I see before everything goes dark is Edward's cold gaze down the hallway.

**Edward**

Son of a bitch. I knew this would happen. Rosalie knew this would happen too, I imagine, which is why she fucking provoked me in the first place. I was stupid to argue with her right outside Bella's room, but Rose pressed my buttons in a way that only she knows how. I find myself once again disappointing Bella and I fucking hate it.

"She's actually fucking ignoring me," I mutter, glaring at my phone before shoving it roughly back into my jacket pocket.

"Who is?" Jasper asks, pushing the doors open and walking into school.

"No one," I snarl under my breath.

My eyes scan the almost empty hallway for her. It takes a moment, but then I see her; head down, like always, and standing anxiously in front of her classroom door. Alice is trying to comfort her, but I can tell it isn't working in the tense way that Bella stands. I set my jaw and start towards her, but before I can take two steps forward Bella has walked inside the classroom and shut the door behind her.

Fuck.

I'm shocked by her bravery, however stupid it may be. Even after yesterday's incident, even knowing it would happen again today, she came here without a single complaint. And then I realize it's all part of her fucking problem; all she knows how to do is obey, even if the consequences for her are negative. I run my hands roughly through my hair and close my eyes. She just needs to learn to stand up for herself. It's that simple. If she would just open her fucking mouth and tell people to leave her alone, she'd have it so much easier.

These are thoughts consuming me as I head to class. Over the course of the next forty-five minutes, I ignore everything the teacher says. I write out six texts to her but delete them all before I send them. I need to talk to her in person or I know she'll just continue to ignore me. I can't imagine what's going on in her head at this moment – the way my words must have really screwed with her head. I'm swimming in a pool of self-loathing when the bell rings. I snatch my bag off the floor and shove through the doorway.

Once I've made my way down the hallway, I see her. Her hands are balled into fists at her side, her shoulders are hunched, and her eyes are on her fucking shoes. She looks lost. No, she looks abandoned. I scan the hallways for Alice and don't see her anywhere. Then, I see Angela and Jessica approaching Bella.

"Fuck," I whisper under my breath.

I can see her mentally panicking. Her eyes grow wide and then she closes them tightly, swaying in place as if she's dizzy. I take a step forward, about to step in like yesterday when a voice draws all of my attention away from Bella.

"Your girlfriend is struggling, Edward," she sneers.

Rosalie steps up behind me, so close I can feel her breath on the back of my neck. My hair stands up on end and I ball my hands into fists trying not to take the bait she's dangling in front of my face. But then she laughs.

"Aren't you going to rush to her aid? Be her knight in shining armor and save the day again?" she whispers, feeding off her own amusement.

I can't move. I'm immobilized by anger – confused by my thoughts. Half of me wants to rush to Bella but another half of me wants to scream at Rosalie. I want to shake her and tell her what a fucking bitch she is.

"You better move quick. She looks like she's going to barf all over Stanley's shoes. Go save her, Edward. Go tell her that she's okay even though we all know she isn't. Tell her she can learn to function like a human being even though you don't believe it anymore than I do."

And before I can move, Bella's body hits the floor with a dull thud. I clench my jaw, hearing Rosalie's snide laugh in my ear. I'm disgusted.

"Oops," she says, grinning. "Too late."

I spin quickly, ready for a fight, but Rosalie has her back to me and is walking down the hallway probably feel really fucking satisfied with herself. When I turn back around, Bella is surrounded by teachers. The bell rings and I'm left standing there with no clue what to do. So I turn and head to my next class.

As I walk into the cafeteria, the first thing I see is Rosalie surrounded by people. She's laughing and flipping her hair over her shoulder. I roll my eyes as I pass by but the sound of Bella's name makes me whirl.

"Our parents are fostering her. Yeah, it's so nice, I know. Her last family was, like, really mean to her and stuff. She's super sensitive and scared of her own shadow. It's really sad."

Then she looks at me and smiles. I never thought Rosalie could sink so fucking low. I narrow my eyes at her and step into the middle of their group.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" I ask incredulously.

"Oh, and this is really cute," she says to everyone. "Edward likes her. Like, he _likes_ her."

I'm met with curious eyes and confused stares, but my focus remains steadfastly on Rosalie. She's grinning from ear to ear, like a cat playing with a mouse instead of eating it.

"What are you doing?" I whisper.

"Nothing," she answers innocently. "Why? Are you ashamed to admit it? That's mean, Edward."

I'm at a loss for words for the first time in my life. I hate Rosalie. I fucking hate her – not for what she's doing to me but for what this will mean for Bella.

"You have a vendetta against me, and that's fine, but leave Bella out of this," I say threateningly.

Her face lights up and she fakes a thoughtful look, "You really feel good about trying to protect her, don't you?"

She steps close to me and tilts her face up so that she can look directly in my eyes. I glare down at her, refusing to ever fucking back down to her.

"You're as disturbed as she is," she whispers low enough for only me to hear. "You can't help her, Edward. You're way too fucking destructive and you break everything you touch. You're just not good enough for her, don't see you that? Stop wasting your time."

And she turns on her heel and leaves me standing there like a fucking idiot with nothing to say because I know she's right.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I'm sorry this chapter is quite a bit shorter than the others. Tomorrow will be better. Thank you SO much for your reviews! I love that you love it! Be sure to tell me your thoughts on this chapter. :)


	7. Look After You

**Disclaimer/Trigger warning: **This story contains explicit language, themes of physical and mental abuse, underage drinking and speak of rape. **This chapter contains underage drinking. **If any of this offends or triggers you, please read no further.

**Bella**

When I wake up, I'm in my bed. I don't know how long I was out, what time it is, or even how I got here. I look around the room slowly and everything looks normal, untouched. I rapidly throw my hand over the side of the bed and feel for my notebooks. All of them are tucked neatly away where they belong, and this elicits a relieved sigh from my lips. I fall back on the bed and curl back up under the covers.

Two days was all it took for me to completely give up. Two days of panic attacks, flashbacks, and one blackout and I'm done trying. It's never going to change. I'm never going to change. And I've accepted that, but I won't torture myself day in and day out just to please anyone else. So, I give up.

Slowly, that ashamed, disappointed, disgusting feeling creeps back up and worms its way into my chest. I lose the energy to even move, so I lay there until my eyes close and I drift off to sleep.

I'm awoken by the sound of knocking at my door. I can hear Alice calling my name, but I close my eyes and refuse to move. The door creaks open slowly and I hear her footsteps lightly tread across the room. She sits something, probably food, down on the nightstand and closes the door behind her. I lie there, unmoving, until the food goes cold. I haven't eaten since the previous day, so after a while I force myself to sit up and eat. The food tastes like rocks and makes my stomach churn. I push the plate away before it's even half gone and make myself shower. When I step out, I don't even have the energy to put clothes on. I sit on my bed in nothing but a towel and stare at the clock blankly.

10:27

10:28

10:29

10:30

Time doesn't stop, even though I have. Grudgingly, I pull on pajamas and crawl, once again, back into bed. I don't have the willpower to do anything else.

"Bella?"

I peel my eyes open and stare at the door. Maybe if I don't answer, he'll go away.

"Open the door," Edward says quietly.

_No_, I think.

There's a long pause, and if I couldn't see his shadow beneath the door I would think he's walked away. Then I hear his voice again, almost pleading.

"I just want to know that you're okay."

Slowly, I push the covers back and pull my notebook out. On the paper, I write, _"I'm okay," _and slide it underneath the door. Then, I twist the lock into place and crawl back in bed. The truth is, I'm nowhere near okay.

The next morning, I oversleep. That's okay because I didn't plan on going to school anyway. Carlisle and Esme remain out of town and everyone else, to the best of my knowledge, has decided to leave me alone – there's no one here to make me leave. I get out of bed only when I'm sure the house is empty and make my way downstairs. I go into the kitchen and start coffee.

The house is silent and I'm sure I'm alone. I pour myself a cup of coffee and lean against the counter. The mug is warm against my cold fingers and I breathe in the steam graciously. Taking a small sip, I look around the kitchen and realize I still haven't seen the whole house. I trudge through the kitchen, the dining room, past the living room and into the foyer. There are pictures hanging on the walls that I've never noticed before. I walk past a picture of Carlisle and Esme together, Alice, Rosalie, Jasper, and then pause when I reach the picture of Edward. It's the first time I've ever really gotten a look at him, or anything more than just a fleeting glance.

His eyes are the first thing I notice; a vibrant shade of emerald that contrasts nicely to his warm hair. In this picture, he's smiling. I've only seen him smile a few times, but I realize he needs to smile more. It makes him more handsome and less intimidating. I leave the foyer and walk upstairs. The only room upstairs that I've seen is my own. There are many doors down the grand hallway, and the first I open is the most elegant so far. It looks Victorian and beautiful, and in the center of the room is a pearl white grand piano. I cross the room, sit my coffee on the floor because I don't have it in me to place it on the piano, and sit down. There isn't a speck of dust on it, but I don't know that it's ever been played. I press one of the keys down and the note hums throughout the room. I wish I knew how to play. I run my fingers gently across the beautiful white finish before retrieving my coffee and leaving the room.

The next room I enter is a bedroom – either Alice's or Rosalie's – as the colors give away the gender of the occupant. Feeling like an intruder, I quickly begin to back out of the room. My ever growing curiosity, however, has other plans for me and I stop and give the room another glance. The clothes on the bed look expensive and provocative. . . It has to be Rosalie's room. I bite my lip and slowly walk throughout the room, swallowing my guilt for doing something I'd never want done to me. She has pictures stuck to her mirror and placed in elegant frames next to her bed; some of herself and Jasper, one with Alice, but none with Edward. My thoughts go astray and I begin to wonder what makes Rosalie tick. Why does she hate me, when I've said literally nothing to her? What is her vendetta against Edward?

I hear the front door shut downstairs and nearly drop my coffee. My heartbeat increases speed rapidly and I quickly race out of the room, shutting the door as quietly behind me as I can. Voices float upstairs to me from the kitchen and I pause to listen.

"What did you get?"

"Smirnoff, Captain Morgan –"

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Edward's voice begins to rise. "You bought a bunch of bitch liquor?"

I hear bags ruffle and then Rosalie's voice flows swiftly upstairs.

"Don't worry, Edward. I've got you covered. Jack, Jim, and Jose – my three favorite men."

"Really? I thought your favorite man was yourself," Edward mutters so low I can barely hear him.

Jasper chokes out a hearty laugh and I cover my mouth so I don't laugh out loud too. I lean over the balcony cautiously, so that I can just make out Rosalie, Jasper, and Edward below me. Rosalie puts her hand on her hip and shoots Edward a warning glare. My smile fades quickly.

"Don't be rude, Edward," she says lightly.

"I don't think you deserve anything less than rude, actually," Edward counters coolly, pulling liquor bottles out of a brown paper bag.

"Tonight's supposed to be fun! Don't be such a downer," she exclaims with a grin.

"I promise not to shit on your party if you promise to not say three words to me all night," he nonchalantly says, unscrewing the top from the bottle of Jim and pouring a small amount into a glass.

"Are you really already drinking? No one's going to be here for hours," Rosalie huffs, crossing her arms.

"Yeah," he replies, raising his glass to her. "But you're going to be here, so I need a fucking drink."

Edward turns, bottle in hand, and exits the kitchen. I step back quickly, careful to stay out of sight, and tiptoe back down the hallway to my room.

**Edward**

"Drink it!"

Jasper's eyebrows furrow together and he leans in closer to me, straining to hear me over the loud music. I point to the shot of Vodka, because he insists on clear liquors, and push it towards him. He shakes his head and his face breaks out into a wide, lopsided grin. He's drunk, and that's exactly what the fuck he needed. I clap my hand to his shoulder and put the shot in his hand. After a second, he shrugs and throws the shot back with a small cough afterwards.

I survey the room soundlessly. Everyone's drinking – mostly everyone is already drunk – a few are dancing, most are talking and laughing, and one couple is making out. My nose wrinkles in disgust as I'm not one for PDA. I take a long swallow of my whiskey when someone taps my shoulder. I turn slowly, daring it to be Rosalie, but my glares are met with the wide, nervous eyes of Jessica Stanley. _Oh, fuck no._

"Hey!" she has to half scream so I can hear her.

I force a smile and nod to her. She leans up, decreasing the space between us so she doesn't have to speak as loudly for me to hear her.

"Having a good time?"

"The best," I reply with dull sarcasm, tilting my drink to her for a brief second before finishing the glass.

She flashes me an alcohol laced smile and leans against the counter, looking past me at Jasper. I keep my eyes forward, not drunk enough to even consider looking at all the cleavage she's flaunting.

"Angela was looking for you!" she yells, still grinning.

Jasper leans forward, palms on the counter, and gives her a yell back. "For me?"

Stanley nods and Jasper widens his eyes at me, flashes me a smile, and disappears in the mosh pit of people to find Angela. She's good, I'll give her that – playing the old "my-friend-was-looking-for-you" card to get us alone. At least, as alone as we can be.

"Lets go outside!" she says loudly, jerking her head to the patio door.

That's the last fucking thing I want to do with Stanley, and I consider telling her no, but admittedly I do want a break from the party. So I pour myself a tall drink and follow her as she sways and stumbles outside. I close the door behind us and take a seat across from her.

"I'm surprised you're drinking. I never see you at parties," she remarks with a forward smile.

"It's kind of hard to escape a party that's at your own house, now isn't it?" I retort.

"Isabella's doing a pretty good job of escaping it. I haven't seen her all night," she replies.

I nod slowly and avert my gaze, "I noticed. I think she prefers to be called Bell-"

"Are you gay?" she interjects suddenly.

My eyes flash wide and I stare at her incredulously. _Are you fucking joking me?_

"How fucking drunk are you, Stanley?"

She backpedals quickly and begins to stammer, "Well, you've never really had a girlfriend and a lot of girls say they've hooked up with you but – well – no evidence and no girlfriend makes me think–"

"Maybe you should stop thinking," I fire at her angrily, abruptly standing up.

"Wait!" she calls, and for some stupid fucking reason, I stop.

I turn around and see a flash of brown hair and then I feel her; her fingers in my hair, her body pressing itself desperately against mine, and her lips finding mine with a drunk anxiety. And the only person I can think of is Bella. I push Stanley off of me, a little too roughly, and take three quick steps backwards. She begins to throw out apology after apology but I'm too far finished with this conversation to give a single fuck. I slam the door a little too hard behind me and leave her on the patio alone.

Jessica fucking Stanley thinks I'm gay, and yet that didn't deter her from kissing me and vying for my attention on more occasions than one. I roll my eyes, thoroughly disgusted, and finish my drink in one swallow. I give up on the glass, toss it in the sink and just grab the bottle. Where the hell is Bella? Not that I expected her to make a surprise appearance tonight, but she does fucking live in this house and I haven't seen her since yesterday. I unscrew the cap from the bottle and let it fall to the floor as I push my way upstairs. She's going to open that fucking door and she's going to talk to me.

"I wondered how drunk you would have to get before I found you up here."

_You have got to be _fucking_ kidding me right now._

"Are you stalking me now?" I ask threateningly, turning around slowly to face Rosalie.

She stands a few feet away, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed and a wide smirk flirting on her lips. She nods, looks at the ground for a few seconds before flitting her gaze back to me and batting her eyelashes.

"I've known you your whole life, Edward. I knew you'd make your way up here eventually," she replies innocently.

"What do you want?" I whisper irritably, taking a few steps closer to her and narrowing my eyes.

"I just want to talk," she answers softly, raising her hands in the air for a truce.

I roll my eyes at her dramatically, "You never just want to talk, and I have nothing to say to you."

She kicks herself off the wall and closes the space between us in only a few strides, "You can't honestly believe you can help her."

"I'm not having this conversation with you," I say angrily, turning away from her.

She grabs my arm and spins me around to face her. My temper takes over and I grab her by the shoulder and slam her against the wall, pinning her in place. I lower my face dangerously close to hers and whisper, so low I know Bella can't hear.

"I'm done playing your little game, Rosalie. Do you think I'm fucking stupid?" I spit venomously. "I don't want you. I've never wanted you. And I will never want you. Get the fuck over yourself and leave Bella alone, or so help me God–"

"You'll what?" she challenges, narrowing her eyes.

"How do you think everyone in school would react knowing you desire your own brother?"

"You're not my brother," she replies in a low, heated voice.

"Let me make myself crystal clear: I wouldn't touch you if you were the last fucking female on this entire planet," I growl. "And if you think treating Bella like shit makes you more appealing to me, you're on the wrong fucking track, sweetheart. Now stop embarrassing yourself, go back down to the party, and don't even so much as look at me again."

She shoves me away from her and I stumble backwards a step, barely catching my balance. Her icy glare doesn't intimidate me, and I match hers with one of my own.

"Mark my words," she threatens slowly. "You will regret this."

She brushes past me, hitting my shoulder roughly as she leaves. I run my fingers through my hair, clear my head with a long drink, and find my way to Bella's door. My knuckles throb as I pound on the door, but I ignore the pain easily.

"Open it," I say sharply.

I pause for a few seconds and strain my ears for any sound coming from inside her bedroom, but I'm met with deafening silence. I know she's not fucking asleep, so I rap on the door again, harder this time. I continue to relentless knocking until the door opens just a hair. I shove it open and walk inside, uninvited and uncaring. I slam the door shut behind me and turn to get a good look at her. She's in her pajamas, her hair is a mess, and her eyes are red rimmed. She looks exhausted.

"What the hell are you doing?" I ask, releasing my anger on her because it's too fucking easy.

She takes a deep breath, eyes down, and walks past me to sit on her bed. She picks up the book she was reading, puts her legs under the covers, and continues to read. She's ignoring me. I stare at her in awe. I take another drink before setting the bottle down on her nightstand. I watch her for a few seconds, expecting her to try to sneak a curious glance at me but she doesn't. I sigh and rub my face roughly.

"You're mad at me," I say quietly.

She still doesn't look at me, but she writes something down on the notepad next to her and throws the paper in my direction. Then, she picks up her book and resumes pretending I'm not here.

_I'm not mad, I just don't care._

"You're mad," I correct her, balling the paper up and tossing it to the floor.

Her fingers tighten on the pages of the book briefly before she snatches up her notebook, writes something else down, and throws this note at me as well.

_I just said I wasn't mad. _

"You can say you're not mad all day," I reply. "But you're acting mad."

Keeping her eyes on her book, she points to the door. She wants me to leave.

"I'm not leaving until you talk to me," I say stubbornly, growing angry at her desire to ignore me and pretend like everything is okay.

She slams the book shut, tosses it to the side, and snatches the paper out of my hand. She scribbles something down quickly and thrusts it back into my hand.

_I want you to leave._

"Bella," I say softly, closing my eyes and pinching the bridge of my nose tightly. "I can explain."

She walks over to the door, throws it open and crosses her arms defiantly. I stare at her for a moment. She has her eyes downcast and she hasn't made a noise, but every bone in her body is screaming at me. I take a few steps toward the door, then stop.

"You know, you make yourself out to be weaker than you are," I acknowledge quietly.

Her eyes flit to me for half a second and she looks away again, but I caught something in her eyes that I'd never seen before – fight. I hold back a small smile. I had been coming to offer Bella an apology, but now I have other plans. I let my desire to push Bella break through, and that's exactly what I do. If Bella's angry and more than willing to be defiant even though every thing she's ever been taught is to _obey_, it's improvement. And I want to see just how angry she has to be before she finally bites back.

"I wasn't lying," I lie, watching her every move closely and closing the space between us. "I don't give a fuck about you. Look at you – you cringe away from everyone, hole yourself up in your room, you still can't even fucking look at me. You're so patheti–"

My words are abruptly cut off by a loud clap. After a few seconds, my face begins to sting and burn, and then I realize what happened. She slapped me. Bella fucking slapped me across the face. I step back and stare at her, completely shocked.

"Look at me, please," I say softly.

And her eyes flicker up to mine briefly, long enough for her to catch the smile on my face. I walk around her and close the door softly.

"You're so accustomed to being the victim that it comes naturally now. But look at you, Bella. You just slapped me."

Her fingers tangle in her hair and she turns her back to me, shaking her head. She's backstepping, victimizing herself.

"Don't you fucking dare feel guilty," I say in a low voice. "You had _every_ right to do that."

Paper crumples as she writes down something and extends her arm behind her, still refusing to look at me, and passes it to me.

_You deserved it._

A small chuckle escapes my lips and I sit down on the edge of her bed, watching her.

"I did," I say quietly. "I didn't mean what I said to Rosalie. I just wanted her to back off and leave you alone, but she's so. . . persistent."

She sits down on the bed, far enough away the we aren't touching, and plucks the paper from my fingers.

_There's a little truth in every lie someone tells._

I sigh quietly and pass her the paper back because I know she's going to need it, "The truth is, I don't know what I'm feeling. I know I shouldn't care about you. I tell myself I don't, but for some reason I still find myself worrying about you – thinking about you. Do you have any idea how angry it made me to know that Mike was screwing with you? Or how badly I want to slap the hell out of Rosalie for even looking at you crossly? Can you explain it, Bella? Because I can't."

She's so still I can't even tell if she's breathing. But then her fingers move and she begins to write.

_You were right. We shouldn't get too close._

"I lied to you," I say suddenly, words rapidly stumbling out of my mouth before I can stop them. "I lied to you about my mother – my birth mother. She found me a few years ago, actually; just showed up on the doorstep begging to talk to me. So I let her in, took her to my room because she didn't have anywhere to go. She cried, laughed, and told me how much she loved and missed me. And do you know what happened? When I went to sleep that night, she snuck out, and she stole all of my money and anything of value in my room. She came to see me to get drug money, Bella. My own fucking mother."

_Why are you telling me this?_

"You told me your story in hopes that I'd understand you," I reply curtly. "Now I'm doing the same. I'm a very destructive person, Bella; Rosalie was right. I break everything I touch, but this is why. I'm angry. I'm so fucking angry that my mother used me to further her addiction, that the family I was given to wants me for the money they'll get for taking care of me – everyone needs something, but I don't have anything to give."

I pause, take a deep breath and close my eyes, "You deserve better than this family."

I feel a flutter on my face, so light it feels like a whisper. I open my eyes slowly and Bella has her fingertips hovering next to my jawline. She wants to touch me, I can see it. But I also see the tremble in her fingers. I want to lean in to her touch, let her feel her skin against mine and know that not every skin is violent; but I want her to come to me more so I keep still. She slowly drops her hand and a wave of disappointment swallows me.

"I'm sorry," I whisper quietly.

_I've already forgiven you, _she writes.

I rub my eyes, sleep beckoning me under.

"I'll see you tomorrow," I say, standing slowly to keep my balance equalized.

I smile at her, but her eyes watching my feet so she doesn't notice. Sighing, my fingers are touching the doorknob when I feel a tug at the back of my shirt. She moved so quietly across the room, I didn't even hear her. When I turn around, she's standing close to me holding another note. I pull it from her hands before she offers it.

_Stay with me?_

* * *

**_Authors Note: _**I'm SO sorry about the lack of updates! Two things: the first, I went on a severe Vampire Diaries binge watch and I've blown through the first three seasons in an alarmingly short time. I'm not proud of that. The second, it took me forever to write this chapter because I just didn't like what I was coming up with. Hopefully you like it, it basically wrote itself in the end. Thank you for your kind reviews thus far, and be sure to let me know what you think about this one! xo


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